


Jormungand's Apple

by Sintero



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gabriel's (Loki's) children, M/M, Midgard serpent, Norseverse, Stolen Kisses, The Cage, Wine, naga Jormungand, the nature of apples
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintero/pseuds/Sintero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped in the Cage, Lucifer finds his post-apocalyptical prison tenure interrupted by one of Gabriel’s pagan half-breed children. Jormungand, the Midgard serpent, instructs the original Tempter of Eve in the dynamic nature of apples. Part of Norseverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jormungand's Apple

He rests upon his stomach on his own heavy coils, idly tracing the outlines of thick scales that shimmer golden in the wan light of the Cage.

_Jormungand_ , Lucifer thinks with contempt. Yet another half-breed byproduct of Gabriel’s unfortunate dalliances while masquerading as the Trickster.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” Lucifer drawls with a lazy cant of his hips. Worn denim ripples as he shifts into the deceptively calm stance.

The serpent raises his humanoid torso from where he lays upon his restlessly shifting coils and smiles widely. “The gall of you little birds,” he laughs into the fathomless expanse of the Cage. Lucifer won’t admit it, but the pagan monstrosity is impressive. Sharp juts of what can only be polished bone form a rasping crest about his head and spine, framing a timeless face that is all angles.  Gabriel did well.

“The Cage is neither a construction of God, nor his angels, though they apparently see fit to use it at their uninvited leisure,” Jormungand explains. His voice is sibilant and rolls with a baritone as smooth as honey. “It is a pocket dimension that has been nesting in Yggdrasil’s roots since the beginning and my coils thereafter. It is my sanctuary, my hermetic retreat, and now it has been tainted with…” he rolls one clawed hand in exaggerated circles and wrinkles his nose as if the word is going to leave a fetid taste on his tongue. “…feathers.”

Lucifer tilts his head in a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Pagan gods are always so banal, but this one, this one may have a purpose he thinks. “I’m sorry to have disrupted your vacation, if you just point the way to the door I’ll be on my way.”

When Jormungand laughs, scales fluttering in mirth, it’s as if the Cage positively thrums with the heat of his amusement. Pretty golden wings or no, he knows a prisoner when he sees one. “Oh, I don’t think so, little bird. It’s so rare to find your kind mired in the mud with the vermin and filth with which I am so accustomed,” he states, mouth pulled wide in a grin that shows far too many teeth. With a sneer of derision Lucifer turns his back and begins to walk away. “Then you’re useless to me,” he states offhandedly.

The barbs of Jormungand’s crest flare and settle briefly. “Well, aren’t we the prickly sort.” Angels of the Lord always did have a stick up their ass.

It feels like an eternity as Lucifer leaves the half-serpent, half-man behind and walks across the endless void of his prison. The doleful silence is his only companion and has been for a very long time. It’s amazing what sordid recompense there is for loving too deeply. Father. Michael. _Sam_.

The serpent slowly comes into focus as a glimmering pinprick of light in the distance, all shimmering scales and undulating muscle. Lucifer sighs and turns back the other way, only to step right into the midst of two chaise lounges and a reclined pagan god drinking deeply from a large crystalline glass of what may be wine or blood. There is a heady bite of fermented fruit in the air.

Wine, then.

“Sit,” Jormungand orders, pointing at the other chair. Lucifer’s eyes widen as his legs crumple and twist beneath him in a controlled fall onto the plush lounge. There has never been a being since Father that could overpower Lucifer. Control has always been a force to exert, not one that is so easily pressed upon him, and the encroaching fear of it settles deep in the pit of his stomach like a heavy, aching stone.

But the serpent before him doesn’t need to know that. “So, why exactly does a silly little pagan god want to bump elbows with an Archangel? Meetings like these tend to end very badly for you guys,” Lucifer states with an absentminded shrug. The feigned nonchalance does not mask the tight set of his shoulders. Jormungand’s glittering eyes narrow knowingly and the toothy grin only widens further.

Lucifer takes a moment to run his eyes from where the golden serpentine body merges with the human-like torso, up to the hazel eyes that openly weigh his character. The angel’s circumspect glance is expected and welcomed. And if Jormungand flexes his body to more impressively display his scales, it’s only natural.

The serpent arcs his torso closer and insinuates his coils beneath Lucifer’s chair. “Come, drink with me,” he says, expression ancient and unknowable. A muscled, overly long arm stretches out to him and offers up a glass of the dark vintage.

Michael has been dead for so long that the oily streak of his ashen wings has been obscured by centuries of Lucifer’s relentlessly pacing feet. Perhaps a break in the monotony is in order. It’s not as if a pagan reject could possibly overpower him.

Surely an archangel of the Lord, even one who fell so long ago, cannot possibly be made pliant with something so droll as wine. The very thought is blasphemous. But then, there was that Eve child, so tempted by the glimmering red glow of his own fruit.

He takes the proffered wine and stares down into the glimmering waves of dark red liquid as it gently whorls about the curve of his glass. The thick, dry aroma embraces his senses like a lover and pulls with the pervasive inevitability of a siren call. Perhaps this is Jormungand’s apple. Lucifer glances up from beneath hooded brows and stares curiously at the hovering face, so beautiful in its sharpness and otherworldly oddity.

He takes a delicate sip from the glass that very quickly turns into a bold pull, leaving both the glass and himself empty and ravaged by thirst. Jormungand’s deep laugh caresses him from within. Every explosive bark shears through him like a lance and brings Lucifer to his knees, scrabbling futilely at the sinuous coils of warm snakeskin moving to embrace him from all sides. Sweet inebriation tantalizes his senses as it teases his mind. “What…have you done…,” he grinds out through clenched teeth. The sharp spike of anger and the layers of threat in his voice draw another bout of amusement from the serpent god.

“Little bird, I’ve given you perspective.”

Lucifer may have given humans the gift of free will, but Jormungand has always been a creature of baser instincts. He bestows upon the Morningstar the gift of carnal desire, of _want_. And it’s a testament to Lucifer’s strength that when Jormungand gently caresses his face in long, scalding talons and presses their lips into a kiss, in no way chastely, he does not immediately give in to the sweet demands of a smooth, skilled tongue reeking of wine. But when those same fire hot talons gently slide his shirts over his arms and dust across the trembling, sweat-slick muscles of his chest, Lucifer is gone. Eyes and mouth blown wide, glowing with the power of his Grace, the archangel opens himself and gives everything in exchange for sibilant promises of a new kind of love. It’s something tangible that rewards his devotion in a million small, glorious ways. Lucifer’s body sings for the serpent like a musical lyre and his Grace shines bright as it has not since The Fall.

Approximately three years after the failed apocalypse, Sam dreams of Lucifer, joyous, bound and writhing upon a pagan altar.

**Author's Note:**

> Then Jormungand teaches Lucifer how to masturbate and no amount of alcohol will ever scour those images from Sam’s mind.


End file.
